Just Get Better, Idiot
by martinique.erotic
Summary: Spain hates getting sick. Romano hates to see Spain sick... kind of. misunderstood!little!Romano and misunderstanding!boss!Spain fluff. I hope I'm not the only one who gets ill from too much cold medicine, or this won't make any sense.


A sweet breeze blew through the trees, jostling the leaves and chilling the air, the rustling of nature under the stars the conveyance of the absolute serenity of night. The first time Spain woke up, rolling over, he caught a glance of this scene outside the window, before falling back asleep moments later. The second time he woke up was to sneeze, reach for a tissue next to him to blow his running nose, and close his eyes once more. The third time, the nation awoke to a coughing fit, accompanied by a sore throat and a headache. He blinked twice. How many more times was he supposed to wake up tonight? Spain reached again for a tissue from the box left on his bedside table, and made a futile attempt to clear his sinuses. He laid a hand on his forehead. _Geez..._ He was _burning._ Groaning, he pulled the covers up closer to himself, still sitting up in bed. He _couldn't_ get sick. Not now, not with Romano asleep down the hallway, ready to attack him in the morning, ready to demand food and attention and... _mm_... Was it really cold in here? Antonio blew his nose again and, tossing the tissue on the floor, laid down and pulled the covers as close as he could. He closed his eyes, noticing how heavy his lids felt and how watery his tired eyes were. Spain snuggled into the blankets and tried to sleep, his newfound inability to breathe through his nose preventing him to do so easily. _It's fine... If I get a good sleep tonight, surely I'll feel... and Romano'll... mm..._

It was two hours later than Antonio shot up in bed in response to an enourmous weight promptly dropping itself onto his crotch.

"Wha..? Ro-Romano! Y-you..."

"I _said _get _up!_"

"Romano, you can't just...! Shit, you do this every day!"

"Wake up! Wake up! You want me to get you up in the mornings! I'm doing my _chores_ Spain, I'm getting you up! Wake-"

"_GAAAAH!"_

The child jumped once more, landing again between Spain's legs.

"ROMANO! Y-"

His words were interrupted by a sneeze, prompting another one followed by a fit of coughing. Romano stared at the larger nation, squinting his green eyes.

"Wake the fuck up, Spain. I'm going downstairs."

The child left, and Spain blinked. _Great, _he didn't feel better at all. He felt _worse_. Antonio reached for a tissue, feeling sinus pressure throughout his whole head. His nose, which had previously been stopped up, was now a miserable combination of being stuffed and runny. Antonio shivered, his entire body heavy and pounding. How on earth did he get this sick? Where could he have caught it from? Another nation? Or was it... no, his head was throbbing too much to think. Slowly, Spain inhaled with his mouth and tried to organize his thoughts. He was.. he... he needed to get up, huh... Momentarily, he concidered not moving at all. With every passing second, his bed seemed to become more and more comfortable. Eventually the boy would have to forget about coming to get him... maybe? But then, of _course_ he wouldn't. This was _Romano._ Spain would probably just end up being blown in the crotch again, a gesture unfriendly to his already aching body. He gathered up his small reserves of energy and, wrapping a blanket around himself with a tissue in one hand and a thermometer in the other, trudged downstairs to the living room, only to collapse once more onto the couch.

"R-Romano~" he cried weakly, his 'm's and 'n's coming out a lot more like 'b's and 'd's thanks to his congestion. "Romanooo~"

The young, maid-dressed boy waked in from the kitchen and hopped onto the sofa, standing over him and squinting down with green eyes.

"Are you going to make me breakfast now, you damn idiot? Geez, if I EVER do anything wrong it's Romano this and Romano that but-"

"Romanooo~" Spain whined again, closing his eyes tightly in an attempt to ease his headache. "I-I'm reeally not feeling so well so.. s-so can you just pleasee be good today? J-just-t eat a tomato or somethin'.."

The young boy paused, a pout forming at his lips, but the glare in his eyes not going away.

"Y-you say it as if I'm no good at all! Geez! You're so fucking stupid Spain! Stupid!"

And with that, he hopped off the couch and stormed away.

Spain sighed. Resting his head on the arm with his aching body sprawled out on the burgundy sofa, he lifted the thermometer with a shaking hand and placed it under his tounge. He was certain that he had a fever, but he waited for the dull beeping sound all the same. 38.8. Dear God, what had he done to deserve this? Antonio sniffled and wrapped the blanket tighter around his chilled body, closing his eyes again and breathing through his mouth.

"Stupid Spain.. stupid, stupid, stupid!" was the next thing he heard, an hour and a half later when he opened his eyes once more. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. He fell asleep.. again? Geez.

"Ro..Romaano...?" he inquired quietly, his voice scratchy and weak.

"Y-y..." the child stuttered, "you didn't tell me you have a fever!" Romano's voice, shaky with a rare hint of concern, sounded so unlike himself that Antonio squinted with suspicion, only to find the boy's eyes filled with tears. "Spain you... s-stupid... stupid Spain..." Romano went on, his voice continuing to wobble as he fought the urge to cry.

"Wha... Ro-Romano," Antonio finally gathered himself enough to say, "I-I did tell you! Just _now, _what did you think I was just _saying_ to you, Romano? I have a fever, my head hurts, my throat hurts, my nose is stopped up, my whole body is freezing and aching... I j-just _told_ you I'm not feeling well. You know, you really don't pay attention when I talk, do you?" he went on, as he closed his eyes and laid a hand on his burning forehead. He didn't have the energy to deal with Romano or his blatant inability to be obedient or quiet. He thought momentarily of cute, cuuute little Ita-chan, probably sweeping or mopping Austria's floor right now, singing with his cuute little voice... It seemed outright impossible that the impatient, inattentive Romano was his relative, let alone his older brother. He was so... _un_cute. Even his own _grandfather_ had caught on to that. And if-

Abruptly, a sneezing fit interrupted Spain's train of thought, clouding his already foggy mind.

"Ugh..." he sniffled. What was he thinking about before..? Just then, Antonio felt himself distracted once more by something cold and wet slapping his forehead.

"Mnn... wha..?" Spain turned his head to see Romano, standing next to the couch, nearly eye-level with him, a washcloth in hand.

"Spain, you're retarded..."

_I'm retarded? You're the one who couldn't even figure out to use a damp cloth instead of a soaking wet one..._ he wanted to say, but his energy reserves were small and draining even now. He couldn't waste it arguing with Lovino, especially since that's where 99% of it went on a daily basis already. He tried to think of a less beligirent recoil, but decided that it was probably better to say nothing at all. Instead, Antonio shut his watering eyes and sighed, trying his best to ignore Romano's continuous muttered insults. It did feel _nice_, at least, for his previously burning forehead to be cooled, even if it was probably soaking his couch. He still felt miserable, but at the very least, nothing _else _was going wrong. Lovino hadn't started a fire in the kitchen trying to cook or broken any dishes or peed on his- _oh God, had he?_ No, he didn't have the energy to think about something like that. At least France and Prussia hadn't stopped by for a suprise visit and... and... Spain felt his strength begin to drain just imagining such an event. He sneezed into his blanket twice, and sniffled. It wouldn't help to imagine all the worst scenarios or to even _start_ to worry himself about the presence of his two best, and two most obnoxious friends showing up. If he was sick, there was nothing for him to do but wait to get better, that was all. After a day of resting he would surely-

"Ro-"

Spain felt a small, cold touch on his right cheek.

"Take your temperature, stupid..." Romano muttered looking away, thermometer in hand, using it to poke Antonio in the face.

"Ahh, th-thanks..." he replied weakly, taking the thermometer and once more, proceding to place it under his tounge. A few moments later the dull beeping sounded for the second time, and the small boy took hold of it before Spain's groggy reflexes could even register to.

"40.1? Y-you... how did it get that high?" Romano cried, the hand he held it in shaking. Almost instantly, he slammed the device down onto the sofa table and grabbed Spain's arm, pulling it forcefully off of the couch and bringing most of his torso with it.

"Wh-wha..? What're you..?" Spain insisted pathetically with a congested voice, half of his body falling off of sofa. "Romanoo! What was that fo-"

"You need to go to bed, stupid!"

"I-"

"You can't have a fever that high and lay on the couch, alright?" the child yelled, "C-_come_ _on_!" Romano gave a tug with each syllable.

Spain's entire body shook and the room spun. He placed both hands over his face, trying to center himself, but the sudden jerks from Romano made him thoroughly dizzy. Gathering himself, his knees shaking, he slowly stood up and, dragging his blanket behind him, followed Romano, who had a hold on his pant leg, up to his bedroom.

It wasn't Romano's fault that he was here. It wasn't his fault that Spain hated him, that he always treated him like a useless waste of space. It wasn't his fault that nobody could see that he was every bit, every ounce as sweet and cute as his brother, he just... wasn't the same. It wasn't Romano's fault that he was Romano.

No, he didn't _try _to swear at Spain constantly or yell at him or break things or disobey orders. But when he _tried_ to follow instructions, to do what Spain wanted, no matter _how_ he did things it always went wrong. No matter how he did things he would only get yelled at by that _stupid asshole_, and compaired to his younger brother, and end up feeling like absolute shit. But it's not like Romano didn't try. And all the same, he didn't _hate_ Antonio. He didn't dispise him or loathe him or even really _dislike _him... not on his own at least. It was all stupid Spain's fault. Stupid for neglecting him, for comparing him night and day to his stupid, stupid younger brother, for attempting to _exchange_ him for someone _better. _Spain was a fucking shitfaced asshole. But still, Romano didn't _hate_ him. And when he trudged downstairs wrapped in a blanket, his usually light olive face pale with flushed cheeks and a pink nose, Romano _did_ feel bad. If Spain hadn't yelled like shit at him last night, or made that jabbing comment about how he sometimes- _how that squirrel sometimes- _p-peed on his bed, he probably would have felt a little more indebted to be nicer. But Spain shooed him away, and after he had proceeded to attempt his morning chores, he returned to the living room, only to find that bastard asleep on the sofa. Romano's emerald eyes narrowed as he inspected the larger nation. He _did_ look pretty bad. His swollen eyes had creases of exhaustion underneith them, and breathing through his mouth like that while sleeping _couldn't _be comfortable. His brown hair, while normally scraggly, was an absolute _mess_, and he was wrapped up so tightly in his blanket, a tissue resting beside him on the couch... it was exactly what he deserved. But... _still_. Timidly, Romano lifted a tiny hand and placed it on Spain's forehead, only to draw back from mixture of shock of heat and the shock of sudden fear that Antonio might wake up. He blushed. Spain... stupid Spain. He should be _happy_ that Spain had such a cold... Spain was _always_ mean to him, always ordering him around.

And even after Romano had kindly fetched a cool towel to help bring his fever down, this time waking him up with the touch, Spain didn't say thank you. He didn't smile or even give a comment. _Stupid..._ After a minute or two of cooling his head, Romano handed over the thermometer to take his temperature. _40.1, really? How the fuck did a cold give him such a bad fever?_ Romano couldn't even remember the last time Spain had been so pathetically ill. Whenever he caught a cold, wouldn't he normally still... I don't know, _walk around?_ Sneeze a little bit and eat soup for dinner maybe, but not collapse on the couch five minutes after waking up. Romano squinted at his boss. If it was really just a bad headcold, it was seriously keeping him down. He closed his eyes, this time trying to remember the last time _he_ had been so pathetically ill. _What did he do?_ It struck him that he had come down with the stomach flu a little under a year ago, probably something he had picked up from one of Spain's stupidass friends. He shivered at the memory of the constant nausea, the neverending chills, and puking all over his bed several times. _Yeah, that was gross..._ Romano paused to think. It wasn't _exactly_ the same, but it was good enough to go off of, right? Sighing, he tugged on Spains arm and led (dragged) him upstairs to his bedroom.

Opening the door, he pulled the larger inside with a hold on one of his pant legs. He pulled back the comforter and pushed Spain over to his bed. _This jackass... he'd better thank me for doing all of this for him, especially since _he's_ the one supposed to take care of _me _all the time. _Romano hopped onto the bed and pulled the covers up to Spain's chin, leaving barely more than his head visible.

"Aah, R-Romano..." Antonio sniffled.

"Just shut up. You sound disgusting."

He smiled weakly as Romano got down from the bed, and untucked himself enough to get a tissue from his bedside table.

"Just... go to sleep," Romano demanded, exiting the room and making his way downstairs. _Stupid... stupid... Now_ what was he supposed to do? Romano attempted to organize his thoughts. Spain was sick in bed, burning up with a fever, looking terrible. But, he hadn't demanded that he do any cleaning or cooking or anything, so... Lovino sighed. _Fucking asshole. _This was the kind of day he had been _waiting_ for, a day with no chores and no Spain ordering him around, no Spain criticizing him, no Spain pissing him off. So shouldn't he be...? _Stupid fucking Spain,_ making him feel _guilty_ for no reason at all. What had _Romano _done? Nothing. _Fucking fucking fucking..._

He returned to his pervious train of thought. What did Spain do for him when he was sick? Surely there were things you were supposed to get for sick people, right? _Nnng..._ Romano groaned in agitation as he made his way to the kitchen, pausing once he got there to gaze around. The medicine cabinent, he was sure, was the one on the left end by the doorway, he had watched Antonio get into it countless times, but... how the hell was he supposed to reach it? _Stupid fucking Spain and your stupid... stupid tall cabinents! Y-you'd have to be a giant to get up there...! I-it's not that I'm short, I just... Spain, you asshole..._ Romano though bitterly, dragging a chair from the kitchen table over to to the counter. Once in place (well, good enough,) he climbed atop the chair, and then onto the counter. Lovino opened the cabinent and looked around, examining its contents. _Cold medicine, cold medicine... oh._ Recognizing a familiar blue bottle, Romano quickly picked it out and closed the cabinent, hopping off the counter. _Now what?_ He thought back. Spain usually poured some onto a spoon, didn't he? But... Spain was upstairs. What if Romano couldn't balance? What if he tripped and fell and spilled it everywhere? After thinking a moment, he grabbed a cup out of one of the lower cabinents and held it under the bottle as he carefully poured the thick, liquidy substance into it. J-just a little, right? But what if too little didn't do enough? Romano's hands shook as he thought of the possibility of him doing it _wrong_, of messings things up yet again_. _Just _once_, he'd like to do things right for a change. _That ought to be good. _Romano stopped pouring the medicine and screwed the lid back on, climbing back up onto the counter and returning it to the cabinent. Taking the cup, he started upstairs, making his way back into Antonio's bedroom.

"Drink this, jerk."

Romano stared at the floor beside him and held the cup out to Spain, who opened his eyes and blinked.

"Wh.. what i-"

"It's _medicine_, stupid, what else would it be? Poison? J-jerk-k..."

Spain smiled and gave a small laugh as he shakily took the cup from Romano.

"Thanks, Lovi," he beamed, his congestion making him sound pathetic. Lovino sighed and blushed, looking back as his boss drank the substance.

"I-I mean... I didn't exactly read the bottle but cold medicine should help your head and... stuff..."

"Lovi, aah," Spain sniffled, "Thanks. I-it was really nice of you to get this for me, really~ I-it-t must have been a lot of effort for you, so I... thanks."

"I-it... it was nothing..."

"B-but you know, I-I feel really gross and I'm p-pro'lly really contagious and I-I'd really hate for you to catch this or anything and-"

Spain was interruped by Romano who, now on the bed, held a tissue suddenly up to his face. Antonio blushed furiously.

"Your nose is running, stupid."

Spain shivered and looked away, Romano still holding the tissue.

"You're sick, Spain," he started again quietly, "It... it's not like I'm not going to take care of you."

Antonio blushed even harder, turning his already dark pink face to scarlet.

"You take care of me," Romano mumbled, "so I... I don't see why I shouldn't..." he faded off.

Spain groaned.

"Wh... what is it?"

"I... uugghhhh..."

Romano watched as he closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his stomach.

"Wh-what's the matter? A-are you okay? Spain...?"

Lovi's eyes widened as Antonio shot out of bed and, covering his mouth with his hand, made a dash to the bathroom. _What the hell is this? Colds make you throw up now?_ The child ran after his superior, following him into the room and watching in horror as he shoved his head into the toilet to puke.

"S-Spain...? A-are you...?"

"L-Lovino..." he gasped, looking at the child out of the corner of his eye. "Ho-how much medicine did you put in that cup?" he asked desperately, before Romano heard another splatter.

"Uh...I-I..."

_Fuck. Oh, fuck._

Every time. _Every fucking time. _What was he supposed to do now? Romano stood in place, every part of his body shaking. He had made Spain feel even _worse. _All he wanted to do was help and now not only was he miserable, congested, and aching, but he was _vomiting. _His head was in the toilet because of him. _Fuck..._

"T-tablespoons..." Spain tried, "You used tablespoons, right? Ho-how many did it say to-"

"H-how the hell was I supposed to...? I... I mean... y-you were the one who drank it, you bastard!"

Romano's voice shook as his emerald eyes filled with tears. _Now he had _really_ done it._ He _just_ wanted to make Spain _happy, _to help him get over his cold. Couldn't things e_ver_ work out? Even just once?

Romano heard the nauseating throw up sounds come to and end and Spain shakily pulled some toilet paper to wipe his mouth. He flushed the toilet and Romano walked over, trying to help him to his feet. With his knees shaking, Spain made his way back to bed, Lovino tucking him in once more.

"Mmn..." Antonio gave another small groan and Romano felt a pout forming at his lips. He _couldn't_ cry. Not now, not in front of this bastard.  
"I-I...I..." he stuttered, his eyes still watering. "I'm r-really, really s-sorry, I... I just..."

"Lovi~" Spain managed in a scratchy voice, "It's alright, really. I-I'm all done throwin' up now, see? I feel m-much better," he smiled.

Romano stared back at him, bewildered. He had expected Spain to be _mad_, to yell at him for not paying attention and reading instructions, for not doing things right. Lovi sighed. He looked cold... Even with his comforter and sheets, Antonio was shivering like the time he had walked into the snow in short sleeves (that time too, he had caught a terrible cold, although Romano was pretty sure this one topped anything Spain had ever had.) The child left the room and returned with the blanket from his own bed, placing it over the larger nation, who was, somehow, already asleep.

The vomiting had done it. After Spain fell asleep under Romano's blanket, he was out for hours on end, solid. Romano spent the remainder of his time doing the rest of his chores, including some of Spain's, trying in general to make up for his absence (it wouldn't help if Spain had even _more_ to do while trying to recover, afterall.) When it got to be later in the evening, Romano made himself supper, and ate, he realized, for the first time that day. He was starving. Taking care of a sick nation was _seriously_ energy-consuming. After he had finished eating, he thought once more about Spain. He _had_ to be hungry by now, right? But... Romano hoped that none of the nausea from the overload of cold medicine was left over. His heart sank at the memory. He should still feed Antonio, right? Y-you couldn't expect a sick person to get out of bed and cook for themselves, Romano guessed. _That bastard..._ he thought to himself, _he-he'll probably puke from my cooking, too..._ The small boy gave a frustrated sigh. Pulling a chair once more into the kitchen, he stopped it at the pantry and climbed on top, looking at the selection. _Sick people are supposed to eat soup, aren't they?_ He took a can and climbed down, returning the chair. Sighing, Romano opened the can and turned on the stove, something he was_ sure _he could at least do right. The child watched impatiently as the soup heated up, widening his eyes on occasion, willing it to warm faster. He was so exhausted, he just... _ding!_ Careful to turn the stove off (he wouldn't let this be like last time,) Romano poured the soup into a bowl and grabbed a spoon out of a drawer. Placing the spoon inside the bowl and holding it with both hands, the boy slowly balanced his way up the stairs, making his way to Spain's room (at the pace he was going, it took him four and a half minutes, but he only spilled a few drops.) Lovino walked inside backwards, pushing the door open with his back, and made his way over to the sleeping Spain.

Pulling a tissue out of the box and lifting it to his face, Spain sneezed.

"Mmmnn," he moaned, pulling the blankets closer to his shivering body. Antonio blew his nose before throwing the tissue carelessly onto the bed, already littered with tissues, thanks to his constantly runny nose. _What a miserable day... _Spain's sore throat had come and gone, but the chills, headache, sneezing, coughing, and aching had lasted since this morning. He felt his legs throbbing and his eyes swollen and watery, making even opening them difficult. He had noticed, however, that his feet, which had been freezing most of the day, were warm now, with another blanket placed over him. _W-wasn't that Lovi's...? _Spain's train of thought wandered to the small child and, remembering the vomiting, rolled onto his side and into fetal position. He closed his eyes and sniffled pathetically. All he wanted was to get better, for this awful cold to go away and then he could go back to-

"Wake up, stupid."

Antonio opened his eyes to see Lovino standing beside his bed, holding a bowl of soup, steam radiating off of it.

"L-Lovi...?" he inquired groggily, massaging one of his temples.

"Y...you can't eat if you're lying down like that, idiot..."

Spain blinked.

"Y-you made me soup, Lovi? Aah that... that's so n-nice! You... aaah Lovi! I didn't know you could cook~!"

Antonio went on as Romano blushed and turned away from the sick nation, who smiled with his cheeks flushed, feeling the best he had all day. Lovino had _really _done this for him? The completely un-cute kid who broke dishes and didn't apologize and screamed at him every hour of the day and called him an idiot nearly every moment... he was taking care of him...! How cuuute~

"R-Romano," Spain sniffled, "I-I'm so happy~! Really, I am! Aaah, th-this really makes me feel a lot better, Lovi~!"

"Y-you... you're welcome... I... I was just..." Romano blushed even harder, and handed the bowl of soup to the larger nation, still trying his best to avaid his eyes.

"Loviii~ this tastes good! Y-you're really good at cooking, you know?"

"I-It came from a can, stupid!"

"You're still good, Lovi~!"

Romano's cheeks turned scarlet.

"I-I heated it up, you bastard! I didn't cook!"

"You're good at heating, Lovi~! You are!"

"B-blow your nose, stupid! You sound so gross."

"Ahhahaha~" Spain laughed shakily, reaching for a tissue,"You're so cute, Romano!"

Lovino paused, staring at Spain, his face redder than it had ever been.

"I...I...I..."

"Hm? What's the matter, Romano?"

Spain sneezed into a tissue twice, and coughed a few times into the corner of his arm.

"I... n-nothing, stupid..."

A smile returned to Antonio's face, and he continued eating, chatting with (or, mostly to) Romano until he was finished. About five minutes after the child had left to take the dishes downstairs, he returned, hopping onto Spain's bed and tucking the sheets in around him.

"R-Romano," Spain half-laughed in a congested voice, "what're you-"

"Sleep! You need to go to sleep, Spain! I-"

Romano paused, once more taking a closer look at the larger nation. Just like this morning, he still looked disgustingly miserable, give or take a few symptoms. Romano recalled being ill, though, and the horrible time it gave him falling asleep. What did Antonio do to help him all those times?

"I..." Lovino sighed. "Move over, asshole."

"W-wha...?"

"I said move over...!" he insisted, and pulled the covers out from one side of Spain, climbing into bed with him.

"Aah Ro-Romano...! You... you're gonna get sick!"

"Hell if I care..." the child said quietly, blushing. "I-it's... I mean... It's not like you didn't always h... hold me to help me sleep, so... so I... it's not like I give a shit if I c-catch your cold... I-I mean... y..."

Romano pulled the blankets up to his nose and felt Spain's arms fold around him, enveloping him in comfort.

"Spain..." the child wimpered, cuddling into him, and thinking of how much he didn't like to see his boss sick.

"You're so cute, Lovino~" Antonio smiled, holding Romano close.

Romano blushed, and at once, they both fell asleep.

The next morning Romano awoke to a stuffy nose, sore throat, and an aching body. The small boy's eyes watered as he sneezed and looked at Spain, who still held Romano in his arms, warm underneith the blankets. The bigger of the two's eyes opened at the sound and feeling of Romano's sneeze, prompting another two, followed by a congested sniffle.

"R-Romano, you..." he said groggily, his voice still sounding as sick as ever. "D-did you catch my cold? Aaah.." Spain finally seemed to wake up. "I-I made you sick, didn't I? Aaahhh... Romano I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-"

"Shh."

The child placed a small hand over Antonio's mouth, his tiny fingers barely covering it.

"I don't _care_, stupid..." he sad quietly, and cuddled closer into Spain's feverish chest. Antonio smiled weakly and tilted his head to a slightly lower angle to kiss Lovino's head, wrapping his arms tighter around the boy. His fever was higher than the previous day's and every last one of his symptoms was still at work, but Spain felt better all the same.


End file.
